


Bunker Secret Santa - Gabriel

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blatant misuse of Christmas carols, Bunker Secret Santa 2018, Gabe brings the glitter, Gabe does Christmas, Gabriel POV, He's trying to be nice...in his way, M/M, Questionable regard for privacy, Secret Santa, You can't tell me that the Trickster is dead, i reject your reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: This is my Chapter for the SPN Bunker Secret Santa 2018 Collab Fic.It can stand alone as a little vignette with our favorite archangel, but I heavily encourage you to go and read the entire fic, with chapters from a whole bunch of fandom authors!You can find it here:Christmas Don't End In Blood: Bunker Secret Santa 2018.





	Bunker Secret Santa - Gabriel

**Author's Note:**

> With extra special thanks to [mittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith), for all her effort, time, and editing. This wouldn't be here without her!
> 
> Love also goes to my usual writer-wives, jscribbles, Elena and SOBS, who had to listen to me prattle in Gabe-speak for far too long.

**Gabriel**

**  
** **  
** It was late enough on Christmas Eve to be considered early Christmas Day when the soft sound of wings  _ whooshed _ into the bunker. The feathered arrival itself was peaceful—quite fitting for the season, even—but the quiet and calm of the bunker’s early hours didn’t remain for long. It was disrupted by an off-key rendition of  _ Good King Wenceslas _ (with some very creative lyrics).

Gabriel appeared in the empty war room. He took a moment to peer around, checking no one was in sight. Satisfied, he hummed contentedly to himself, grateful that the anti-angel warding around the old Men of Letters headquarters didn’t blast him away. Clearly, the inhabitants hadn’t thought to change it since he was last here; as they believed him dead, he mused, that made sense. Evidently, they should have known better.

The archangel stood perfectly immobile as he observed, taking in the decorations that had been procured and displayed around the bunker. He was rarely completely still, and the sensation bothered him enough that he began fidgeting just for something to do; flipping his golden kazoo back and forth over his fingers, in and out, a little party trick of motion. He quietened his singing, though no one could perceive him anyway. Not even Castiel, unless he wished it. He just stood, taking in the seasonal transformation that had overtaken the bunker since he’d last seen it.

“Gotta be the kid,” he muttered to himself, looking around at the little touches of Christmas that had invaded the old Men of Letters hideaway. “Not sure Dean-o and Stretch would know what a family Christmas looked like if it bit them in the hiney.” There was something a little sad about that, he decided.

A few bedraggled old artificial wreaths hung on walls and a garland of plain fresh pine roping had been wound around the stair railing. At least it made the room smell a little festive. He gave it a flick with his finger and sauntered over to where a decent little tree had been set up in the library. It was strung with colorful lights and popcorn garlands, and other little trinkets that Jack and probably found around the bunker. They may not have had a chimney, but that hadn’t stopped Jack from tacking up a dozen or so socks along the bookshelves beside the tree.

“Hmm, festive,” Gabriel said. “Or at least…they tried.”

Gabriel often talked to himself. He always had the most interesting answers, after all.

“ _ ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the bunker… _ ” Gabriel began, tiptoeing across the room. “Well, shit, nothing rhymes with bunker. Drunker? Junker… Ooh, Dean wouldn’t like that one.” 

Gabriel chattered away to himself at full speed as he moved over to the Christmas tree, flicking the tiny, metallic instrument he had been fiddling with up into the air. It did a little flip before disappearing. Kazoo tidied back out of sight, Gabriel began poking idly at the pine branches.

Gabriel had a bit of a thing for Christmas. It was a party, first of all, but he’d also been rather instrumental in the first one, and he did like to hear people sing songs about him. He was pleased with the way the celebration had evolved over the years, though if he was honest, he did kinda miss the raw, unfettered rowdiness of the pagan traditions that had preceded it. 

His heavy, golden wings twitched involuntarily with anticipation as an idea began to form. He finally turned from the tree, spinning on his heel with a gleam in his eye. Strolling nonchalantly through the bunker, he invited himself into every bedroom, every nook and every cranny, poking around until he found the presents. Some of them were surprising. Some amusing. Almost all of them were thoughtful, personal, or kind. Gabriel wrinkled up his nose.

“Get yourself killed for just a few months and they start living out a Hallmark movie in your absence,” he muttered to himself.

All of the goodies in the bunker uncovered, he strode back through the corridors until he ended up in the war room once again. He paused, leaning against the edge of the wide map-topped table that took up most of the space. His fingers idly walked through Russia as he arranged his thoughts, moving through the Ural Mountains before coming to an abrupt halt, his hand frozen as his lips pouted out thoughtfully.

“I mean, I could…” he mused, to the air. “I  _ should _ go and wake up Lanky and Cranky. Let them know I’m back in town. Alive. In their casa.”

Gabriel knew Castiel and the Nephilim were here somewhere too. He knew their signatures, he could feel them nearby when he allowed his senses to drift out.

“Or,” he answered himself, firmly. “I could not.” 

Not sounded better. He could have more fun with not. 

After all, why  _ tell _ the Winchesters he was alive, if he could just leave them some clues? That sounded a lot more entertaining, not to mention less likely to involve long, boring explanations.

The archangel moved across the room, climbing the iron stairs that led out of the bunker. At the top, on the landing in front of the door, he turned to lean on the metal railing. He looked down and realized that this was the exact view he’d had, many long months before, when he’d killed Asmodeus.

That might not have turned out how it did, he considered, without the Winchesters and their motley little band of misfits. 

Shaking his head, Gabriel straightened up. “Getting sentimental in your old age,” he told himself. “Can’t be having that.”

He lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers.

 

~~**~~

 

There weren’t a lot of party stores open that late on Christmas Eve, but Gabriel didn’t actually need them to be open. Stealing was, of course, a sin, but he also didn’t really consider it theft. He was the messenger of God, and everything on Earth belonged to God. His, someone else’s, owned, free… it was just semantics. It was just simpler to wander around and gain inspiration than to have to summon up new items from scratch, he told himself.

Gabriel didn’t dwell on the fact that, despite his careful rest and recovery, he wasn’t back to full power. Snapping things up from nothing still wasn’t quite as simple as it used to be, but oh well, he could rest tomorrow. He was here for fun, not realism. 

Freezing the security system with a simple flick of his wrist, Gabriel grabbed himself a shopping cart. Leaning into it, he ran a few steps to gain momentum, then kicked his feet up off the ground and sailed the cart on down the first aisle with a childish whoop of glee. 

Gabriel had been around longer than almost anything that still existed. He'd passed outside of time, his wing-tips had trailed against the very edges of the universe. But still, there was little that entertained him more than party decorations. He took in every row of excessive consumerism with glee; this, he thought, was exactly what free will was made for.

Even so, there was the odd thing that puzzled even him.

“Yikes,” he muttered to himself, passing all the gift wrap and bows that America seemed to have decided Christmas required. “There’s gotta be a few acres of rainforest in here. Humans.” He rolled his eyes, moving on. 

He wasn’t here for wrapping paper. He was really more of a gift box guy. And he hadn’t come for presents either, not precisely.

He wanted to give the Winchesters a little clue that he was back, that if they really needed an archangel once more…he’d be there. But he wasn’t about to set up house. No gifts under the tree from dirty Uncle Gabe. 

Firstly, he wanted to spruce up the decorations a little. Give them a little more  _ pizzazz. _ And a tad more glitter.

He soared down the tree decoration aisle on his cart, warbling ‘ _ Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ _ , and grabbing handfuls of everything that glittered or sparkled obscenely. Tacky tinsel, baubles that played music, and a golden rotating angel that glowed to go on top of the tree. A fluffy tree skirt that looked like a holdover from a Christmas porn movie, snowflake garlands, and irritating toys that started singing hymns whenever someone walked past made it into his cart.

Gabriel was gonna make that bunker look like the spirit of Christmas had the stomach flu. 

He perused a little further, doing some quick math to count out how many Christmas stockings he should grab. He grabbed extra ribbons, and glitter, and confetti, and with far too much delight grabbed a few packages of plastic kazoos. Somehow, everything magically fit into the overflowing shopping cart without losing a single tacky piece.

The candy aisle proved to be quite the distraction, but eventually, Gabriel was done. With a tiny kazoo fanfare, he snapped his fingers to return the store security back on. Taking a second to wink at the camera, he leaned his weight onto to the shopping cart once more. He kicked off, zooming down the final aisle, and disappeared into nothing.

 

~~**~~

 

“ _ Ding-dong merrily on hiiiiiigh...” _ Gabriel yowled victoriously, spinning around in the center of the war room, glitter spraying out from his hands like shiny, irritating, impossible-to-clean-up fairy dust.  _ “In Heaven, the bells are riiiiinging,” _ he crooned on.

Snapping his fingers, he festooned the ceiling with loops of tinsel, before crossing his arms.

“Not that we actually have any bells in Heaven,” he mused, taking a step back toward the tree. He reached up, attempting to place the rotating, musical angel on top of the huge pine that took up an entire corner of the room. (Alright, so perhaps he had upgraded the tree just a little. Who wouldn’t?) 

After a couple of attempts at reaching the top of it he scowled, admitted defeat, and dragged a chair over to climb on. Plopping the angel right on the pinnacle of the tree, he hummed thoughtfully, watching it spin around. 

“Something is missing…” Gabriel mused, his whiskey-colored eyes grazing up and down the decoration thoughtfully. Suddenly it came to him, and he broke out into a wicked grin. 

With a quick snap of his fingers, a tiny beige trench coat appeared on the angel tree-topper. 

“That’s better. Every angel with a stick up his ass should have a trench coat,” he announced to no one in particular, climbing down from the chair, which helpfully reseated itself under the table with a flick of his fingers. 

Surveying the room slowly, Gabriel took in the miles of garland, herds of ornamental reindeer and inflatable Santas that occupied every inch of the bunkers main communal space. 

“Good, good,” he muttered, tapping his lips with his fingers. 

Moving over to the corner of the room, he surveyed the small pile of Christmas stockings he had obtained. It had been easy enough to work out from the presents he’d found how many he needed to provide, and the names of the recipients. Most were familiar, some not. 

Filling the stockings with candy took a little longer than intended, but he did stop for a snack several times. Each of the traditional red stockings, bearing a strip of white fur around the top, bulged obscenely with diabetes by the time he was done. 

Walking to the other end of the room, Gabriel looked around, humming. There was no fireplace in the bunker; probably for the best, from an underground safety perspective. But, there was a thick stone lintel that capped the alcove where a huge telescope sat. That would do just fine. A few more finger-clicks and each of the stockings dangled from a stout hook in the beam. Labelled with the names he’d lifted from the gift packages, the stockings drooped invitingly, heavy with sugary swag.

Just one final touch.

Gabriel stretched his wings out, turning his head and rotating the lower wing joint so he could survey them critically. Aha—there. Exactly what he needed. One of his left secondary coverts sat at an angle, lifted just a tad away from its neighbors. He reached back, drifting his fingers through his wings in a grooming motion, until the golden-brown feather softly slid out into his hand. 

He held it up and spun it slowly between his fingers, eyeing the shining archangel feather critically. A rare thing, these days. Its edges shimmered tellingly, but Gabriel figured that even if the brothers couldn’t work out who it was from, they had their pet seraph to help them. 

Grinning, he reached forward and tucked the feather into the top of Sam’s stocking. Looking at Dean’s next to it, he smirked and snapped a lump of coal into the matching spot. Just for balance.

Stepping back, Gabriel slowly spun around, surveying the overload of Christmas that had now arrived in the bunker. 

Oh! His amber eyes widened with glee. One last thing… Just one.

With a clap of his hands he was gone; in just a few moments, he returned.

“Ugh!” Shaking his wings and shoulders, Gabriel dislodged some snow that clung greedily to his jacket. In his arms he carried a giant ball of mistletoe, fresh and dewy. He strolled through the bunker from one end to another, festooning every doorway he could find. 

“ _ With you, shawty with you… _ ” Gabriel sang, shameless in his Bieber as he made every room entrance a trap. “ _ With you, under the mistletoe!” _

Finally done, he observed his handiwork. The bunker was a riot of Christmas color and sparkle. The tree exploded with cheer, stockings were hung, seasonal music played from some indiscernible place in the air and snow, real snow, swirled in the corners, mysteriously disappearing without making the floor wet.

It was magical. 

Tacky as hell, maybe, but that was a matter of opinion, Gabriel thought. With a smile that was fonder than he’d care to admit, he decided that the Winchesters, their friends, and his spunky little Nephilim nephew would love it. 

It was a risk, perhaps, to give them this and let them know that he was around. But, as he’d said once before; if shit was going to hit the fan, he knew where he’d place his bets. They hadn’t let him down yet, even if the results of their efforts weren’t always what he expected. And he sensed, or perhaps hoped, that they’d keep his resurrection to themselves, too. 

Self-indulgently, he hummed a little Mariah Carey and took one more stroll around, before coming to a stop in front of the Christmas tree. It was time to go; it’d be dawn soon. 

“As Tiny Tim said,  _ ‘A Merry Christmas to us all; God bless us, every one!’ _ ” 

Gabriel grinned, raising his fingers to snap them one last time, and disappeared.   
  


 


End file.
